Priorities of War
by Catmint
Summary: Takes place in the final-showdown timeframe. Narcissa's priorities, as we've known since the start of HBP, are her family. Here, she narrates the final events and her reasons behind her actions.


**Disclaimer: **not mine, never were, never will be. No suing – I'm currently unemployed and thus have very little money.

"Is Draco alive? Is he in the castle?" I hold my breath as I await Potter's response: what he says will determine whether I am truthful or take a huge risk and lie to the Dark Lord.

"_Yes__," _breathes Potter.

My decision is made. "He is dead!" I call out. This triggers loud cheers and celebrations from the other Death Eaters assembled nearby – they are still faithful to the cause. Not me, though. Not me.

I return to the gathered and slip my hand into my husband's. He pulls me into his arms – the others will think we are overjoyed with what they believe to be the outcome, for none could know of my untruth – and murmurs in my ear, "Potter is alive. You lied."

Of course. Of course he would know. "I had to." My voice, too, is low, thought it would not matter if I had spoken normally because of the cacophony coming from those surrounding us. "I don't want to fight. I just want to find Draco. It was the only way. When we get in there, into the school, I'm going to find him."

"No you're not."

"Lucius—"

He pulls away a little and places a finger on my lips. "When we get in there, _we're _going to find him."

My eyes widen. "But what about—?"

"I don't care any more, Cissa. My son is in trouble and it is the Dark Lord's fault – and, I suppose, mine to an extent. Draco comes before anything else, except you." He paused. "One thing, though – please ensure you shake off that lunatic sister of yours."

I glance over to where Bellatrix is shrieking with delight and dancing around madly. Lucius is certainly correct on the 'lunatic' part. "I doubt that will be too difficult. She mentioned that she intends to track down the Longbottom boy."

I pay very little attention as we advance upon Hogwarts. Draco is the only thing I care about now; I no longer care who wins this war. Part of me wants Potter to win – I feel a perverse desire for this, to see the Dark Lord pay for what he has done to my family. I know that I am partly to blame for this, but what's done is done. I cannot change the past.

As we step into the school, Lucius tugs me after him and begins shouting Draco's name. I do the same; nobody pays us the slightest bit of attention. At some point the Granger girl grabs my arm and tells me that Draco was outside the Room of Requirement when she last saw him, a short time ago. I thank her and she disappears back into the mêlée. Lucius has overheard so he pulls me along again, out of the chaotic fray and into the corridors we used to know so well; it takes very little effort to remember the route. People pass us but we pay them no heed because they are irrelevant to us now.

It seems to take forever, arriving on the corridor for the Room. Slumped against the wall are two figures: one is Gregory Goyle, the other is my son. Suddenly unsure, I stop. Draco does not appear to be moving.

Lucius released my hand and in several swift strides has reached Draco. He kneels down beside him and puts his fingers to our son's throat. I cover my eyes with my fingers, dreading the possible outcome.

"He is alive," Lucius announces.

That is my cue: I rush over and sweep him into my arms. There is no point hiding my falling tears as relief floods over me. My little boy is _alive_. Lucius's arms are around us both and I can tell that he, too, is crying – though he will deny it later, I can be certain.

Draco stirs in my arms and I pull back. His eyes are fluttering open. "Mum?" he whispers hoarsely. He looks and sounds like the six-year-old who fell through a pothole into a forgotten cave on the moors, not the seventeen-year-old he actually is.

"I'm here," I assure him.

"How did you find me?"

"Granger," Lucius tells him.

Draco rests his head on my chest. "Crabbe cast Fiendfyre…But he didn't know how to stop it; it got out of control…"

"How did you get out? And where's Crabbe?" asks Lucius.

"Crabbe didn't get out. Potter – Potter saved my life." He can't like that, owing his life to Harry Potter of all people; I can hear it in his voice. However, he probably has some sense of relief that it was not the Weasley boy.

"Then I must thank him," I say.

Draco looks up at me, confused. "But I heard someone say he was dead."

"That," says Lucius, "is because that is what your mother told the Dark Lord."

Draco now looks even more baffled. "Why did you do that? If he'd checked, found out, he'd've – he'd've…"

"It was a risk I had t o take," I tell him. "I don't care about the cause any more; I just want my family to be together again, not torn apart by war as it has been."

Draco wrinkles his nose. "Mu-uuum, you're getting all soppy!" he complains.

Typical teenager. "How are you? Your voice is a bit raspy."

He coughs weakly. "It's just a bit of smoke, Mum. I'll be fine. _Honestly_. Stop fussing."

"She's your mother. It's her job to fuss," Lucius tells him sternly, though there is an underlying teasing tone to his voice. He leaves our sides for a moment, to check on Goyle, as Draco rolls his eyes. "Alive," Lucius informs us. "Asleep, to be specific."

Draco snorts. "Typical."

Lucius gets to his feet. "I want to know what's happening. Let's go back to the Great Hall."

"I'm not fighting," I object. "I can't quite bring myself to join the so-called 'goodies' but I won't fight for the Dark Lord, not any more."

"Nobody will notice us," my husband says confidently. "It is highly likely that we could sit on the edge of it all without actually participating. Besides, there is a very high probability of healers being in the vicinity and I _would _like Draco given a once-over – no, don't argue, I want to be certain that you have not suffered any ill-effects from the Fiendfyre."

Draco huffs, but it's in resignation. He needs help to stand and he's unsteady on his feet. Lucius and I put him between us and we make our way back to the main battle site; we do not rush because we have nothing to hurry to. As we walk, Lucius and I tell our son of what has been happening.

We eventually reach the Great Hall, which is eerily quiet, especially considering how many people are there; the air is oppressively tense, like the world is holding its breath. I can sense that the war is on a knife-edge, that the final showdown is imminent.

As we step into the Hall, we hear Potter say, "I am the true master of the Elder Wand."

Draco gapes at the wand, then at Potter. "But that was _my_ wand! I had the Elder Want and I didn't know?"

"_Shhh_!" Lucius orders sharply, voice quiet, just as day breaks and the Hall is flooded with the red-gold light of dawn. Gryffindor colours; of course. Maybe it is a sign from some power unknown to the world that Potter will prevail; I think that this is what I want.

And then in a moment, it happens: the Dark Lord casts the Killing Curse, Potter his trademark Disarming spell.

A deafening _bang_ sounds as the two spells meet; Draco's wand – the Elder Wand – spins high into the air, towards Potter, who, through years of training as a Seeker in Quidditch, deftly catches it.

We stand motionless by the doorway of the Hall, watching in disbelief as the Dark Lord falls, as though in slow-motion, backwards, red eyes rolling back in his head and arms splayed as he hits the floor with a _thud _that everyone present hears because the room is otherwise silent with fear and anticipation.

Potter stands there, two wands in his hand, staring at the unmoving, finally-dead figure of what had been, until a few seconds ago, the Dark Lord. Draco reaches for my hand, and probably his father's as well. I feel a sense of detachment, as though I am watching a memory in a Pensieve.

Then, suddenly, the Hall is full of noise: yells, cheers, screams, roars. Everyone is rushing to Potter, some friends, many adoring worshippers. He is their hero, his name now more immortal than it had been previously. I have no desire to join them; neither do Lucius or Draco. All I can feel is relief that this is all, finally, _over_.

Lucius steps between me and Draco, and slips an arm around our waists, guiding us to one of the House tables, and we sit down. My knees give way and I half-fall to the bench. Lucius pulls us close to him as we allow ourselves to relax. I cannot prevent the tears from falling and Lucius gently hisses the top of my head. "It's over, Cissa," he says. "Finally, it is over."

"We're okay, Mum," adds Draco, though his voice wavers. "We survived. He's finished; he can't hurt us now for disloyalty or anything."

I nod, still trying to comprehend what has just happened. Everything feels so unreal.

Someone touches my shoulder and I glance up to see Professor Sinistra there. She and I know each other from our own schooldays; she was the Ravenclaw who tutored me in History of Magic well enough to get an E on my OWLs. "I wasn't expecting to see you here like this, Narcissa."

"What do you mean?" I ask. I am suddenly exhausted, my brain foggy and unable to process all but the blatantly obvious.

"Everyone knows where the Malfoys' loyalties lie. Besides, you're in Death Eater robes."

I shake my head. "Not any more. I'm just glad it's all over at long last."

"Not celebrating? Or mourning or angry?" There are hints of scorn and disdain in her voice.

"No."

"We're neutrals," cuts in Lucius brusquely. That seems to indicate an end to the conversation, for Sinistra turns on her heels and walks off towards some of the other teachers and Potter.

I feel slightly awkward as the first wave of joy ebbs away and an altogether more sombre atmosphere descends as the survivors begin to confront the grim reality of dealing with the dead. I'm not sure if we should be here or not, but nobody demands that we leave – indeed, nobody pays us any attention in the slightest; people leave us be. This suits us nicely; we need time to absorb the events of the last few hours, for they still do not seem real.

They are laying out the bodies now. Bellatrix is one; apparently she fell to Molly Weasley. Sooner or later some Ministry official will ask me about what I want to do with it; I no longer care, they can do what they like. She may have been my sister, but I feel no sorrow at her death – she was insane, fanatical, a lunatic as my husband put it. She bullied me throughout our childhood; when she escaped from Azkaban two years ago, she came straight to my home and continued where she had left off, threatening me in the way that only a Death Eater can should I reveal her whereabouts to the Ministry. And once she began to suspect that my loyalty to the Dark Lord was wavering, she never left the subject.

I touch Lucius's hand and he turns to look at me. "Is it wrong to feel relief about Bella's demise?"

He shakes his head firmly. "Not in the slightest. Had she had children, she would have sacrificed them without a second thought. You put your life in danger to save your child. You had different priorities of war – and I am thankful for yours."

I close my eyes and rest my head against his chest. "Thank you. I love you." I suspect that Draco rolls his eyes at that.

"And I love you too. Always and forever, for better and for worse." He continues, but exhaustion overwhelms me and I fall asleep in my husband's arms, safe at last.

~fin~


End file.
